


Silence After A Gunshot

by irishluff



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, F/F, Pre-Canon, spoiler heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishluff/pseuds/irishluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHSL Rarepair Week #1; ☿ Mercury; understanding // pekosaba</p><p>You don’t know how this started but you never want it to end, because she fits you like a glove and it makes more sense than anything you’ve ever known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence After A Gunshot

You aren’t sure how all of this started. You don’t remember first meeting her, really. You remember her sister wrapping her spindly fingers around strands of silver hair and waxing philosophical about the end of the world, talking in your ear, sugar sweet voice going on and on about how **people** like you ought to know what she’s talking about (and there’s that word again, _people_ , as if you could ever believe it would apply to you).  You’ve always had some curiosities about her, an underclassman with a nondescript appearance who spends as many silent hours in the dojo as you do and hovers around Enoshima with a posture you understand. But you don’t remember first speaking to her.

Neither of you are any good with words, maybe that’s why. Words spill out of your lips, both of yours, awkwardly tripping over your teeth like they know they don’t belong. You do remember first fighting her, because that’s your shared language, something you both understand. When you strike with your sword and you’re silent as the grave, she can hear you screaming, every anguished cry you’d never let out loud but are so, so clear for anyone that knows how to listen. She knows how, because she’s screaming too, and her screams sound like gunshots. When she fights you it’s not screaming, it’s poetry and it’s beautiful, and you cherish every precious second until someone claims victory.

You remember going back to her room, it’s sparse like yours but there’s a photo on the wall of her and her sister. Junko smiles enough for both of them, so it doesn’t really matter that she isn’t. She kissed you and didn’t mind that you’ve tasted like blood since the day you were born, and maybe after that is when you spoke, you can’t really tell because your flesh and your weapons have been having conversations for ages now. And she understands. She knows your heart only beats to keep your body working, what you mean when you say mumbled tones, “I’m not a person”, and you don’t have to explain what it means to only live as an extension of someone else’s life, because she knows, god does she know.

When you confess one night that you’d really like to die for him someday because maybe that’d make your wretched life worth something, she doesn’t look concerned. She just nods. You’re so glad to have said it out loud. You’re tangled in her and it’s fine. You don’t like to be touched by most people, because they seem to be so sure of the boundaries of their bodies that a touch is too intrusive, but she’s fluid, she melds with you in a way that makes sense.

She practices her impression of her sister on you, puts on that stupid wig and talks about things Junko probably thinks about, and it’s frustrating, it’s so frustrating, because they’re _nothing alike_. Junko is an explosion, a typhoon, she fills every room she enters and refuses to be anything but what she is. But she, she’s the silence after a gunshot, not her sister at all. (And maybe there’s some jealousy too, because this is a level of devotion you have never been allowed.)

You see her die through the eyeholes of a stuffy bear mask and get up to leave. You’ve got better things to do than watch dead people on TV.


End file.
